John Davidson.

1857-1909

868   Song

THE boat is chafing at our long delay
   And we must leave too soon
The spicy sea-pinks and the inborne spray,
   The tawny sands, the moon.

Keep us, O Thetis, in our western flight!
   Watch from thy pearly throne
Our vessel, plunging deeper into night
   To reach a land unknown.

869   A Runnable Stag

WHEN the pods went pop on the broom, green broom,
   And apples began to be golden-skinn’d,
We harbour’d a stag in the Priory coomb,
   And we feather’d his trail up-wind, up-wind,
We feather’d his trail up-wind—
     A stag of warrant, a stag, a stag,
     A runnable stag, a kingly crop,
     Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
     A stag, a runnable stag.

Then the huntsman’s horn rang yap, yap yap,
   And ‘Forwards’ we heard the harbourer shout;
But ’twas only a brocket that broke a gap
   In the beechen underwood, driven out,
 From the underwood antler’d out
     By warrant and might of the stag, the stag,
     The runnable stag, whose lordly mind
     Was bent on sleep, though beam’d and tined
     He stood, a runnable stag.

So we tufted the covert till afternoon
   With Tinkerman’s Pup and Bell-of-the-North;
And hunters were sulky and hounds out of tune
   Before we tufted the right stag forth,
 Before we tufted him forth,
     The stag of warrant, the wily stag,
     The runnable stag with his kingly crop,
     Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
     The royal and runnable stag.

It was Bell-of-the-North and Tinkerman’s Pup
   That stuck to the scent till the copse was drawn.
‘Tally ho! tally ho!’ and the hunt was up,
   The tufters whipp’d and the pack laid on,
 The resolute pack laid on,
     And the stag of warrant away at last,
     The runnable stag, the same, the same,
     His hoofs on fire, his horns like flame,
     A stag, a runnable stag.

‘Let your gelding be: if you check or chide
   He stumbles at once and you’re out of the hunt;
For three hundred gentlemen, able to ride,
   On hunters accustom’d to bear the brunt,
 Accustom’d to bear the brunt,
     Are after the runnable stag, the stag,
     The runnable stag with his kingly crop,
     Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
     The right, the runnable stag.’

By perilous paths in coomb and dell,
   The heather, the rocks, and the river-bed,
The pace grew hot, for the scent lay well,
   And a runnable stag goes right ahead,
 The quarry went right ahead—
     Ahead, ahead, and fast and far;
     His antler’d crest, his cloven hoof,
     Brow, bay and tray and three aloof,
     The stag, the runnable stag.

For a matter of twenty miles and more,
   By the densest hedge and the highest wall,
Through herds of bullocks he baffled the lore
   Of harbourer, huntsman, hounds and all,
 Of harbourer, hounds and all—
     The stag of warrant, the wily stag,
     For twenty miles, and five and five,
     He ran, and he never was caught alive,
     This stag, this runnable stag.

When he turn’d at bay in the leafy gloom,
   In the emerald gloom where the brook ran deep
He heard in the distance the rollers boom,
   And he saw in a vision of peaceful sleep
 In a wonderful vision of sleep,
     A stag of warrant, a stag, a stag,
     A runnable stag in a jewell’d bed,
     Under the sheltering ocean dead,
     A stag, a runnable stag.

So a fateful hope lit up his eye,
   And he open’d his nostrils wide again,
And he toss’d his branching antlers high
   As he headed the hunt down the Charlock glen,
 As he raced down the echoing glen—
     For